The Roles We Take and the Games We Play
by Clockwork-hart1
Summary: Femslash! Buffy and Faith like to role-play... Mostly drabbles, these are fragments from their relationship, as told through their... games.
1. Name Games

1. Name Games

for femslash100 challenge "bite"

Disclaimer: No Characters, just the words (too tired to be witty)

Distribution: Ah, go on then, just remember to label it "Clockwork hart"

A/N: Well this is two kinds of firsts for me, my first f/f slash, and my first PWP so be gentle with me, I'm new at this...

* * *

Buffy tensed as cool hands ghosted over her body, fingertip caresses gliding down from her the hollow of throat to her navel. Breath caught as butterflies blossomed beneath roaming fingers.  
Eyes fluttered shut as kisses peppered her face and neck. The Slayer's pulse thrummed beneath soft lips as deft fingers glided lower.

A sharp moan escaped parched lips when long fingers slid deeply within her. Beads of sweat rolled down rain-damp skin and all thought was swallowed up by the soft mouth kissing and sucking along her neck.

Blissfully, her head tilted back, allowing her lover better access; submissively baring her throat. Teeth scraped across sensitive skin, mouth hovering over her pulse until sharp teeth bit down.

"Angel!" Buffy cried out, and the ministrations suddenly stopped.

Cautious eyes opened to meet the glare of the dark Slayer.

"I'm all for the role-playin', B", Faith lifted the blonde's face closer to hers, "but mine is the only name I wanna hear from those lips." She brought her mouth to Buffy's in a deep, hungry kiss as her fingers resumed their pace in Buffy's slick walls.

Faith made sure there was only one name on the Blonde's lips.

"Fuck, Faith!"

"Damn right."


	2. Lock and Key

2. Lock and Key

For femslash100 challenge 378-Lock.

* * *

God, she'd missed slaying; the wind in her hair, the rush of kicking a foe in the crotch when he came back for more.

She could fight this one all night, so long since she'd fought for the hell of it. Once an assassin, a prisoner, a general and soldier in the fight against the original Big Nasty, now just one of a million Slayers making with the staking. But damn if it didn't feel like kicking this Vamp's ass was all she was meant to do.

Vicious teeth scraped her throat as Fang-boy got kneed in the ribs. Stake drawn, she kicked him to the floor and rendered him dusty. Then, the world caved in.

"Weapons on the ground!"

Faith felt bile rise in her throat. So she'd forgotten about being a wanted fugitive. Could happen to anyone, right? Body limp, the stake clattered to the ground.

Eyes squeezed shut, breath dead in her lungs, the bite of cuffs familiar around her wrists. Her blood screamed to fight, to break free, but Faith stayed submissive. Hands pushed her towards the car to be carted back off to her home sweet cell.

"What," she forced out, body shoved against the hood, "not gonna frisk me up? Strip search me for dangerous weaponry?"

A familiar giggle rang through her. "Oh, there'll be plenty of frisking later, and stripping." Buffy pulled Faith up by the scruff of her collar. Warm breath tickled her ear. "But, Faithy, I'll handle the dangerous weaponry."


	3. Snapshots

3. Snapshots

For femslash100 challenge 379 - Snapshot

* * *

The camera had been Faith's idea. An old crappy Polariod salvaged from Giles'** Attic of Doom**. The plan, essentially, was to scatter as many promiscuous images of herself sans-clothes around the apartment as film supplies permitted.

But one dusky afternoon in post-fuck elation, Sun dancing lazily over both Slayer's skin, Buffy turned to her lover and gently whispered; "take a picture of me as I kiss you."

A lifetime before this amorous affair in a whispered exchange about Riley, Willow would call this Buffy's "Leibovitz fetishism". But upon the innocent backdrop of pure white cotton sheets, the shot of two soft mouths meeting (camera close to hand from indulging that fetish), the blonde's green eyes impassioned and the brunette's shut so tight, the exchange appeared so tender it could only be love.

And so, when time had withered on and passionate need-fuck had lost its sizzle, Faith would let a hand creep beneath her pillow to pull out that photo and think; _maybe Buffy had loved me after all_? But Faith never once doubted that she loved Buffy more.


End file.
